I have set down my incredibly heavy Timbuk 2 bag to lean over the counter that naturally falls at my armpit level. I lean over on the blue block and pass the customs agent my passport, declaration and boarding pass. This actual conversation ensues.
Officer looks at my documents. He is mid-30s with glasses and blond spiky hair. He reminds me of the main character from King of Queens.
"Welcome home Miss Higgins. Where are you headed?"
I shift my other bag uncomfortably on my left shoulder. Damn me for being such a lousy packer. I purse my lips together, rubbing some of the remaining gloss that's on them instead of the untimely action of digging through my bag for lip chap.
"Las Vegas."
He flips through my passport and frowns.
"But you live in Canada? What takes you to Vegas?"
My turn to frown. I don't like any additional questions or having to answer them, like when you know you have six bottles of wine in your suitcase and you should only have two.
"Work."
He glances up from the papers, just moving his eye. He gives me a head tilt and a slight squint. I worry that I might get hauled into the back room here again, like last time I flew through Vancouver and told the customs agent I had an apple. I was just trying to be honest and it landed me in full white room while a really nice lady ripped through my entire bag.
"Are you a dancer?"
I really, really want to be flattered but I don't like where this is going. Before I can say anything else, he adds,
"An exotic dancer? Or an entertainer?"
I want to laugh. Badly. But I also know humor isn't always the strong point for convincingly crossing borders. Just ask myself or Lisa about the Lithuania border crossing on the bus sometime.
"Erm, no. I work for an active travel company."
He stares at me like this is the wrong answer. There is a heavy silence that I cannot interpret. In his eyes I feel like he is trying to evaluate the likelihood I am a liar. Should I have lied and said yes? Would this have been a satisfactory answer?
"You know, we get a lot of strippers that fly to Vegas to perform."
I sense this conversation may be swirling out of control.
I laugh, it is forced and I really sound like a liar. I am flushing, it feels warm in this room right now. There is a huge line of people behind me, surely this man doesn't think that I, dressed in a long sleeve black sweater, black tights and boots, hair in a pony tail with no make up, no jewels or fake breasts am actually a stripper going down to Vegas to 'perform' or 'work' or 'dance' for the next two weeks. In my head I start to entertain the possibility of having to prove my type of work, like calling my boss and saying, 'Hey Mike, do you think you could possibly tell border protection services that I am not on my way down to Vegas to strip for a few weeks, but rather to lead trips in Death Valley?'
Another squint from blondy and he passes me back my passport.
"Have fun."
I wish I could have recorded that entire conversation. I stop in the washroom on the other side of the customs screening area and look at myself in the mirror. I cannot decided whether I am flattered or offended. I decide not to worry about it and head to my gate, spring in my step, almost dancing all the way to Tim Horton's and then the gate.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Monuments and Melodies
Brother and I in Stanley Park in Vancouver. Yes, it is raining.
My final October Death Valley trip with 25 guests. One of them captured me in motion at the top of our final day hike at Zabriskie Point.
"Hi Mum and Dad? Guess where I am!" (Answer: Drinking $0.99 Margaritas in Vegas)
During the whirlwind Hollywood visit with Jess, my co-leader and Vegas stopover companion.
Me, at Half Moon Bay, California on the Coast Ride. I had the photographer cut out the "B", I wish it was 'Half Moon Hallow' or something, because that would be awesome.
Darkness is falling slowly on the corner coffee shop I am perched in. Near this window I have been watching Hu's Automotive. The traffic in and out has been slow but consistent. I have been slowly knocking away at my long electronic to do lists in a similar fashion.
Taking a breath from Backroads life, I find myself in Vancouver visiting Thomas. He is doing incredibly well and blossoming into a delightful young man. I only question his skinny jeans, a style I was convinced was only for very skinny European men. Thomas has graciously showed me around Vancouver, we've sampled coffee in his new neighborhood, and played around in the rain and dined out at local haunts. I had a chance to visit dearest Lisa, an unexpected surprise as she is here for work, and have made plans with a few other peeps from the Calgary lululemon experience and University. Minus the impending signs of a winter I am trying not to consider too much, all is well in my world.
Two big trips in Death Valley, neither spectacular, and I am looking forward to my final haul and another chance to shine. I feel incredibly deflated when I leave trip(s) feeling cosi cosi (Italy's salute to 'so-so') about how a trip went. One more trip, one more unit drive, finishing paperwork for the season... and I will be dropped back into Calgary. Time to think, time to recover, time to re-group...
But the end of October wasn't a complete loss. I had a blast working in the Desert as I saw old friends in the park. Ed, a retired man who works concierge and valet at the Furnace Creek Inn, Danielle, a seasonal waitress I befriended in March of 08, Piper, a live-wire who works at the bar of the hotel and occasionally as a waitress. I like her because she has a bizarre tattoo on her neck, the thickest southern accent I have ever heard and a sweet and mild demeanor despite her strange hairdos, outrageous clothes and grating laugh. Friends came to visit me in Las Vegas for three nights after my trips. I learned Blackjack and Craps, drank large drinks from Slurpee machines and soaked in the green light of the MGM grand from our windows. Fast forward to this November evening and I believe things are looking bright for Holly Higgins. Bright indeed.
So I go back to my electronic list, my new Incubus album (Monuments and Melodies) and all around general kicking ass of life. I mean that in the nicest, most awesome, most monumental way.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
102 F
I am attempting to pedal forward, except I have a small problem. I am biking into the worst headwind of my entire life. I cannot hold my handle bars in place long enough to complete a full revolution, and gusts of sand keep sweeping up into my face. I wipe my face on my jersey but it is full of sweat that has dried in the desert heat, making my clothing stiff rags of dried sweat and sand, crisping in the heat of Death Valley. It is 102 F, the hottest it has been in October for 40 years in Death Valley. I am letting two guests draft behind me on my bike and I wonder to myself what I have gotten into. I feel like I am biking in a bikram yoga studio. I wonder how long it takes to die of heat exhaustion.
My fearless co-leader and myself found ourselves in the hottest, driest, gustiest four days of Death Valley trip history. We were afraid people were going to bake in the sun like the cookies you buy that are gooey dough and you can cut with a butter knife and put into the oven for a few minutes and then they are chewy and delicious. Except the people would not be chewy and delicious, they would be brown and crispy. And angry. And dangerously dehydrated...
Devin and I managed to recover from our rocky heat start and plowed through to have a great trip. I now have less than ten hours to wash my clothes, check my email, respond to it, have a shower, pull information for my next trip and execute it. All in a hard days work. Only five more days until a blissful day off... Five more days...
Other random life stuff that is not pertinent to the above writing but I wanted to mention anyway.
1. I cannot seem to post photos on my blog. I do not know why. I have tried several ways... I have Cali photos and Death Valley pics to put up. Weird.
2. I miss Calgary, for the people especially sis, Lis and G-ma, Bumpys, Talisman Centre, YP and David Walkers Wines.
3. My Mum has a blog and you should read it: http://www.cfl.ca/article/life-as-a-football-wife-part-2
4. I do not have one clean article of clothing in my bag.
5. It is perfectly acceptable to walk down the street of Boulder City with your friend/co-worker in your bikini with a beer and a towel from your hotel, looking for an open hot tub to sit in. In fact, if the beer is open that is even better.
That is all, until the exhaustion passes, Good Night.
My fearless co-leader and myself found ourselves in the hottest, driest, gustiest four days of Death Valley trip history. We were afraid people were going to bake in the sun like the cookies you buy that are gooey dough and you can cut with a butter knife and put into the oven for a few minutes and then they are chewy and delicious. Except the people would not be chewy and delicious, they would be brown and crispy. And angry. And dangerously dehydrated...
Devin and I managed to recover from our rocky heat start and plowed through to have a great trip. I now have less than ten hours to wash my clothes, check my email, respond to it, have a shower, pull information for my next trip and execute it. All in a hard days work. Only five more days until a blissful day off... Five more days...
Other random life stuff that is not pertinent to the above writing but I wanted to mention anyway.
1. I cannot seem to post photos on my blog. I do not know why. I have tried several ways... I have Cali photos and Death Valley pics to put up. Weird.
2. I miss Calgary, for the people especially sis, Lis and G-ma, Bumpys, Talisman Centre, YP and David Walkers Wines.
3. My Mum has a blog and you should read it: http://www.cfl.ca/article/life-as-a-football-wife-part-2
4. I do not have one clean article of clothing in my bag.
5. It is perfectly acceptable to walk down the street of Boulder City with your friend/co-worker in your bikini with a beer and a towel from your hotel, looking for an open hot tub to sit in. In fact, if the beer is open that is even better.
That is all, until the exhaustion passes, Good Night.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Lowering the Ball
Richelle, a brilliant woman in my life, once told me a theory about life as juggling balls.
You have all these balls you juggle...work, finances, social and political responsibility, hobbies, health, family & friends. All the balls are important, she would say, but the family and friend juggling ball is made of glass. You can lower it... but you cannot drop it. I guess that would be because it would shatter. Perched in my motel room in Boulder City, Nevada on the eve of another long stretch of work, I am contemplating these balls. Maybe I haven't dropped them. But they are low.
So as I reach out briefly to people who I have been on the cusp of contacting it is hard because I hardly have time to do my laundry. I need time, and the patience of all the wonderful people in my life (faithful reader, you are being buttered up) as I put my nose down to the grindstone and continue to work.
The California Coast ride was every bit as wonderful as I remember, besides the novelty of sleeping on the inside floor of a budget rental truck has worn a little thin on me. Sometimes I would ask myself, awake at 3am, listening to the waves, searching for my toque in the darkness wondering why I like what I do. But then I drive to Big Sur and watch the ocean crash into the sides of the cliffs and I understand.
From California, finishing in Hermosa Beach with an epic night out on the town and a $28 manicure and pedicure I then drove to Las Vegas en route to Salt Lake City (with a co-worker). We snuck in Rev (Cirque du Soliel show) and more than our fair share of $0.99 margaritas. I learned how to play roulette. We drove to SLC and I worked in the warehouse begrudgingly for four days before driving back to Las Vegas, unloading work stuff and prepping for a back to back set of trips in Death Valley. Leading me to very much look forward to my next day off, October 28th.
So I lower the balls precariously. But at least I am still juggling...
until next time.
Holly, circus juggler.
You have all these balls you juggle...work, finances, social and political responsibility, hobbies, health, family & friends. All the balls are important, she would say, but the family and friend juggling ball is made of glass. You can lower it... but you cannot drop it. I guess that would be because it would shatter. Perched in my motel room in Boulder City, Nevada on the eve of another long stretch of work, I am contemplating these balls. Maybe I haven't dropped them. But they are low.
So as I reach out briefly to people who I have been on the cusp of contacting it is hard because I hardly have time to do my laundry. I need time, and the patience of all the wonderful people in my life (faithful reader, you are being buttered up) as I put my nose down to the grindstone and continue to work.
The California Coast ride was every bit as wonderful as I remember, besides the novelty of sleeping on the inside floor of a budget rental truck has worn a little thin on me. Sometimes I would ask myself, awake at 3am, listening to the waves, searching for my toque in the darkness wondering why I like what I do. But then I drive to Big Sur and watch the ocean crash into the sides of the cliffs and I understand.
From California, finishing in Hermosa Beach with an epic night out on the town and a $28 manicure and pedicure I then drove to Las Vegas en route to Salt Lake City (with a co-worker). We snuck in Rev (Cirque du Soliel show) and more than our fair share of $0.99 margaritas. I learned how to play roulette. We drove to SLC and I worked in the warehouse begrudgingly for four days before driving back to Las Vegas, unloading work stuff and prepping for a back to back set of trips in Death Valley. Leading me to very much look forward to my next day off, October 28th.
So I lower the balls precariously. But at least I am still juggling...
until next time.
Holly, circus juggler.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
We Are Here
I have been accused of "drinking the koolaid" of bicycle-touring Backroads (and before that, colored stretchy pant land lululemon). I am the first to admit I'm the air-fist pumping, gung-ho cheerleader of whatever company is putting money into my bank account, but what I witnessed this past week at work trumps this. Fresh off of Tour Davita 2009 my head is still reeling and the corporate chants are still ringing in my ears. Touuuuuurrrrrr Daaaavvvvviiiiittttaaaa...
I had the opportunity to work this ride in the Fall of 2007. Bright eyed and bushy tailed and fresh off a sweet n' easy opening season in the Canadian Rockies, I headed down to Salt lake city and then Tennessee to host 200-some odd riders in Backroads first attempt at a tour ride. Chaos ensued. I drove a van and trailer five days out, did the ride and drove five days back. I was so enchanted with the Backroads machine I'd have done anything including tattoo the company logo on my back or work 41 days both (luckily I did the least invasive of the two). I fell in love with Backroads during the Davita/California stint of fall '07 so in seems fitting to come full circle back to the place where I began. Last year I was busy putting on weight via cheese and wine in Italy, so I was unable to do the ride. I think at the time I laughed at my good fortune. I assured myself this year would be different, more organized, planned, I'd sleep more and be cranky less...
Granted, Backroads has corrected errors, planned, prepared and focused their energy into a stronger ride. However... we still remain working 18 + hour days, sneaking away to use the bathroom or send a text, sleeping underneath large trailer trucks. Endless cups of coffee made way into one or two or four cocktails, capping off lengthy work day in the pouring rain wandering around with your backpack looking for places to sleep. Standing in a foot and a half of water in my flip flops in the makeshift kitchen of ten camping trailers combined, scrubbing dishes in the pouring rain I asked myself. Better, yes. Ideal, no. Busy? Absolutely.
I traveled to and fro the ride in a sweet red Audi, and my sweet friend Rebecca. The little sporty number was courtesy her man friend and we road tripped in and out of Michigan via Chicago. Going in we reminisced about our time together in Ireland, our 2009 Backroads season and about general life, love and happiness. On the way home we chatted through the gong show week, the best and worst parts, and what we'd do if we could do it all over again. To Rebecca I am grateful for the support and laughter. We were hysterical when we pulled into the outskirts of Chicago. I flew to Toronto and am soaking in the luxurious parenting, support and love of Mum, Dad and Hillary. I have also been sleeping around eleven hours a night, which I suppose is also helping my overall outlook.
After Toronto I am headed to California, to do the Coast Ride for the Arthritis Foundation (the exact same deal as in 2007) which I am most looking forward to because I fell in love with the state at that time those few years ago. I go straight into a long stint in Death Valley followed by an exit home at the end of November. Hard to believe the time is planned all the way up to that point...
Madness of Davita aside, with the California plans glistening in the future (insert Phantom Planet's aptly named 'California' song here) the one thing that stays with me over the past week is Davita's cheer. All teams (the ride was divided into color teams) take turns cheering in front of the gathered crowd to show their team spirit. All chants must begin or end with "We Are Here". On further consideration, I decided this was appropriate for all phases of life. We Are Here, an announcement to the crowd (or whomever chooses to listen to you) that you are in fact Here, present, open and waiting- in this moment- alive. You are Here. I am here. We are here.
It is time to rest my tired toes (I was able to complete the Toronto half marathon this morning, a handy little early Happy 26th Birthday to me), stop worrying about my inability to post photos on the blog site (I have no idea why) and enjoy my afternoon and days here in Toronto. After all, I Am Here.
https://www.tourdavita.org/index.php
I had the opportunity to work this ride in the Fall of 2007. Bright eyed and bushy tailed and fresh off a sweet n' easy opening season in the Canadian Rockies, I headed down to Salt lake city and then Tennessee to host 200-some odd riders in Backroads first attempt at a tour ride. Chaos ensued. I drove a van and trailer five days out, did the ride and drove five days back. I was so enchanted with the Backroads machine I'd have done anything including tattoo the company logo on my back or work 41 days both (luckily I did the least invasive of the two). I fell in love with Backroads during the Davita/California stint of fall '07 so in seems fitting to come full circle back to the place where I began. Last year I was busy putting on weight via cheese and wine in Italy, so I was unable to do the ride. I think at the time I laughed at my good fortune. I assured myself this year would be different, more organized, planned, I'd sleep more and be cranky less...
Granted, Backroads has corrected errors, planned, prepared and focused their energy into a stronger ride. However... we still remain working 18 + hour days, sneaking away to use the bathroom or send a text, sleeping underneath large trailer trucks. Endless cups of coffee made way into one or two or four cocktails, capping off lengthy work day in the pouring rain wandering around with your backpack looking for places to sleep. Standing in a foot and a half of water in my flip flops in the makeshift kitchen of ten camping trailers combined, scrubbing dishes in the pouring rain I asked myself. Better, yes. Ideal, no. Busy? Absolutely.
I traveled to and fro the ride in a sweet red Audi, and my sweet friend Rebecca. The little sporty number was courtesy her man friend and we road tripped in and out of Michigan via Chicago. Going in we reminisced about our time together in Ireland, our 2009 Backroads season and about general life, love and happiness. On the way home we chatted through the gong show week, the best and worst parts, and what we'd do if we could do it all over again. To Rebecca I am grateful for the support and laughter. We were hysterical when we pulled into the outskirts of Chicago. I flew to Toronto and am soaking in the luxurious parenting, support and love of Mum, Dad and Hillary. I have also been sleeping around eleven hours a night, which I suppose is also helping my overall outlook.
After Toronto I am headed to California, to do the Coast Ride for the Arthritis Foundation (the exact same deal as in 2007) which I am most looking forward to because I fell in love with the state at that time those few years ago. I go straight into a long stint in Death Valley followed by an exit home at the end of November. Hard to believe the time is planned all the way up to that point...
Madness of Davita aside, with the California plans glistening in the future (insert Phantom Planet's aptly named 'California' song here) the one thing that stays with me over the past week is Davita's cheer. All teams (the ride was divided into color teams) take turns cheering in front of the gathered crowd to show their team spirit. All chants must begin or end with "We Are Here". On further consideration, I decided this was appropriate for all phases of life. We Are Here, an announcement to the crowd (or whomever chooses to listen to you) that you are in fact Here, present, open and waiting- in this moment- alive. You are Here. I am here. We are here.
It is time to rest my tired toes (I was able to complete the Toronto half marathon this morning, a handy little early Happy 26th Birthday to me), stop worrying about my inability to post photos on the blog site (I have no idea why) and enjoy my afternoon and days here in Toronto. After all, I Am Here.
https://www.tourdavita.org/index.php
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Alcan Highway Lamentations
I pulled over to stop for gas in Dillon Montana, irritated due to the fact I crawled through the US/Canadian border and also that my Alaskan cell phone which is supposedly a US cell phone is not working. I then discover the lone gas station was closed starting at four. I grumpily got back into my Backroads van and went back to the I-15 highway, cursing my luck into the blue mountain sky. I turn the ignition and am further irritated by how little gas is in my tank. Stupid bikes on top of my van are acting like a sail, blowing my van all over the highway in the wind and sucking back gas at an exponential rate. Fifteen minutes later I pull into Boyer, Montana for gas. The station is closed for the long weekend. I angrily pump my fist onto the glass of the gas station. But this isn't the long weekend! I mentally plead while standing helplessly in the middle of nowhere, wind whipping my hair in front of my face, which I yank back in utter frustration. I consider pulling a chunk of it out.
I crawl into Great Falls and arrange a motel that looks like something out of a B-Class horror movie. The bed I am sitting on arches inward slightly and I am exasperated at these last eight hours of events although I am aware that since my departure from Anchorage on September 1 all has been a little crazy. Actually since mid-August all has been a little crazy. I sigh, close my eyes and take a mental rewind back for a week or two.
Emily and I wrapped up our trip and I turned around to work crew on a camping trip of 24 singles and solos (read: 21 tents to assemble and dissemble) and 29 people to cook for. Myself and Matt were crew of this apocalypse and took our job seriously- we set up and took down tents in the rain (three times) made enough food for 29 people twice a day (we ran out almost every night) and slept in the back of a Ford 350 van. The first few nights we politely tip toed around each other and made attempt to hit the sack early. By night three we were both sleeping in our clothes we had worn, sweat and cooked in all day because we were too tired to change. Two adults both over 5'9 fit nicely inside a Ford 350 van with no back seats as we slept long side the van on sleeping sheets. I fell asleep one night sitting up and Matt passed out on his beer. And so goes the tiredness we felt.
It is rare to have more than 5 hours of sleep a night on most camp trips. We’d finish dishes at 12, and be up at 5 to put on coffee (which we’d also always run out of), cook breakfast, clean up breakfast, do the breakfast dishes, make appetizers, make dinner, serve dinner, clean camp, clean dishes, repeat. By the time camp moved to Denali I felt like I was seeing double.
We did have one night off, the fourth night of the trip everyone goes to eat at a local pizza joint in Denali. Matt and I headed out with the leaders, Kevin and Ashely, along with 24 rowdy drunk and single people. Matt and I bowed out at 10:30pm (one and a half beer and tiredness= very sleepy) and went back to the Nest. We climbed into bed and about a half an hour later I had to go to the bathroom REAL BAD. By now it is dropping well into the zero/ frost range at night so getting out of bed for a bathroom break is even less appealing than before (not like climbing out of a tent to pee is ever anyone’s favorite thing). The campground was so dark and I couldn’t find my headlamp- it was cold, late and I was too tired to make my body work. I stumbled out of the van and tried to orientate myself-which direction are the outhouses?- and was completely puzzled. I decided to make use of the complete darkness to have a quick pee in the woods. I walked away from the van, used the loo with a view, but as I stood up to turn back around towards the van, I whacked my shin on something. Puzzled, I stopped and felt around me. OMG. I just realized. I peed in our kitchen. We had packed up almost everything but the “secret spot in the woods” I chose was actually just our make shift kitchen. Realizing my error and being too horrified to speak, I decided to laugh. I actually laughed until I cried and went back to The Nest to wake up Matt and tell him the story. Luckily, he thought it was pretty funny too.
Finishing camping and heading into three days of warehouse work, we packed up the entire Alaska operation, including the house we lived in, and hit the road the morning of September one. Driving The Alcan was "interesting" (which I remember from Grade 7 english is a poor way to describe anything) certainly scenic and vast in its beauty. During my mandatory one hour periods of silence (self-imposed) I have thought over everything from my season in Alaska to my over-all career life, why flip flops are named as such, why could I not wear orange in a wedding dress, who decided dandelions were a weed anyways, and why can't cant you easily tear electric tape with your teeth? The silence has given me time to brood, time to think, time to laugh and sing and cry and just be alone in the car. The decompression has been swift and much needed.
As I near Salt Lake, sitting in dumpsville hotel, I am reminded of something a new friend just told me. I cried one morning, thinking of leaving Alaska, ending the summer, starting a fall, and all the changes ahead. My head and heart hurt unreasonably and Anchorage responded by dumping rain all over me while I went running in the morning.
"All Good Things come to an end," Tyler said simply.
"And then more Good Things replace them."
I crawl into Great Falls and arrange a motel that looks like something out of a B-Class horror movie. The bed I am sitting on arches inward slightly and I am exasperated at these last eight hours of events although I am aware that since my departure from Anchorage on September 1 all has been a little crazy. Actually since mid-August all has been a little crazy. I sigh, close my eyes and take a mental rewind back for a week or two.
Emily and I wrapped up our trip and I turned around to work crew on a camping trip of 24 singles and solos (read: 21 tents to assemble and dissemble) and 29 people to cook for. Myself and Matt were crew of this apocalypse and took our job seriously- we set up and took down tents in the rain (three times) made enough food for 29 people twice a day (we ran out almost every night) and slept in the back of a Ford 350 van. The first few nights we politely tip toed around each other and made attempt to hit the sack early. By night three we were both sleeping in our clothes we had worn, sweat and cooked in all day because we were too tired to change. Two adults both over 5'9 fit nicely inside a Ford 350 van with no back seats as we slept long side the van on sleeping sheets. I fell asleep one night sitting up and Matt passed out on his beer. And so goes the tiredness we felt.
It is rare to have more than 5 hours of sleep a night on most camp trips. We’d finish dishes at 12, and be up at 5 to put on coffee (which we’d also always run out of), cook breakfast, clean up breakfast, do the breakfast dishes, make appetizers, make dinner, serve dinner, clean camp, clean dishes, repeat. By the time camp moved to Denali I felt like I was seeing double.
We did have one night off, the fourth night of the trip everyone goes to eat at a local pizza joint in Denali. Matt and I headed out with the leaders, Kevin and Ashely, along with 24 rowdy drunk and single people. Matt and I bowed out at 10:30pm (one and a half beer and tiredness= very sleepy) and went back to the Nest. We climbed into bed and about a half an hour later I had to go to the bathroom REAL BAD. By now it is dropping well into the zero/ frost range at night so getting out of bed for a bathroom break is even less appealing than before (not like climbing out of a tent to pee is ever anyone’s favorite thing). The campground was so dark and I couldn’t find my headlamp- it was cold, late and I was too tired to make my body work. I stumbled out of the van and tried to orientate myself-which direction are the outhouses?- and was completely puzzled. I decided to make use of the complete darkness to have a quick pee in the woods. I walked away from the van, used the loo with a view, but as I stood up to turn back around towards the van, I whacked my shin on something. Puzzled, I stopped and felt around me. OMG. I just realized. I peed in our kitchen. We had packed up almost everything but the “secret spot in the woods” I chose was actually just our make shift kitchen. Realizing my error and being too horrified to speak, I decided to laugh. I actually laughed until I cried and went back to The Nest to wake up Matt and tell him the story. Luckily, he thought it was pretty funny too.
Finishing camping and heading into three days of warehouse work, we packed up the entire Alaska operation, including the house we lived in, and hit the road the morning of September one. Driving The Alcan was "interesting" (which I remember from Grade 7 english is a poor way to describe anything) certainly scenic and vast in its beauty. During my mandatory one hour periods of silence (self-imposed) I have thought over everything from my season in Alaska to my over-all career life, why flip flops are named as such, why could I not wear orange in a wedding dress, who decided dandelions were a weed anyways, and why can't cant you easily tear electric tape with your teeth? The silence has given me time to brood, time to think, time to laugh and sing and cry and just be alone in the car. The decompression has been swift and much needed.
As I near Salt Lake, sitting in dumpsville hotel, I am reminded of something a new friend just told me. I cried one morning, thinking of leaving Alaska, ending the summer, starting a fall, and all the changes ahead. My head and heart hurt unreasonably and Anchorage responded by dumping rain all over me while I went running in the morning.
"All Good Things come to an end," Tyler said simply.
"And then more Good Things replace them."
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Liquor Store Hilarity
I am in Tok, Alaska.
There is much to say, to share, ground to cover. I will, in time, be able to do so.
Tonight I went to a Liquor Store in Tok to buy a last six pack of Alaskan beer. Emily was with me and we spotted key chains with our names on them and purchased them. Gleeful like 5 year olds we danced around on the deck of the store, only for me to drop my key chain under the deck. It was lodged firmly underneath in the dirt two feet below.
Give up hope? Never.
We used the Liquor Store Owner's flashlight, wire hanger, duck tape and pliers (not in that order) to free the lost key chain. It took thirty minutes of concentration, movement of wire, prayer and hope.
So for anyone driving past us in a van, all you could see are two women outstretched on the deck outside the liquor store, six pack in hand, flaying their arms madly.
I love my strange, wonderful life.
There is much to say, to share, ground to cover. I will, in time, be able to do so.
Tonight I went to a Liquor Store in Tok to buy a last six pack of Alaskan beer. Emily was with me and we spotted key chains with our names on them and purchased them. Gleeful like 5 year olds we danced around on the deck of the store, only for me to drop my key chain under the deck. It was lodged firmly underneath in the dirt two feet below.
Give up hope? Never.
We used the Liquor Store Owner's flashlight, wire hanger, duck tape and pliers (not in that order) to free the lost key chain. It took thirty minutes of concentration, movement of wire, prayer and hope.
So for anyone driving past us in a van, all you could see are two women outstretched on the deck outside the liquor store, six pack in hand, flaying their arms madly.
I love my strange, wonderful life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)